


holding on to the hope

by onceuponamoon



Series: abo jt/ebs [18]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Fluff, M/M, Slice of Life, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-01 21:32:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19185868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceuponamoon/pseuds/onceuponamoon
Summary: For whatever reason, maybe the last snippets of a good dream or just that warm moment of knowing his alarm hasn’t gone off yet, John wakes up smiling.





	holding on to the hope

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by [Kate the Great](http://sometimesnot.tumblr.com).
> 
> To all y'all who've been waiting so patiently: thank you. I'm behind on answering [asks on tumblr](http://onceuponamoonfic.tumblr.com/ask), but I promise I've read each one and think about this verse during any spare moment I get <3

**November 2017**

 

For whatever reason, maybe the last snippets of a good dream or just that warm moment of knowing his alarm hasn’t gone off yet, John wakes up smiling. 

He’s hard, yeah, but it’s not urgent enough for him to actually want to do anything about it and, aside from the fact that he needs to get up and ready for practice, he -- well, it’s stupid but he gets the sudden, intense urge to scent Jordan.

And seeing as how he can’t… 

He _can_ , at the very least, do the next best thing: send a grinning, sleepy-eyed selfie. 

He’s splayed out on his belly in the middle of his nest, surrounded by pillows and blankets on all sides, and the picture he takes shows a good portion of his bare shoulder, the mess of his hair, half of his grin buried in the pillow. He types out a slow, careful, “Good morning. See you soon.”

He hits send.

Even though it feels like Jordan only just left the house, John’s…not at all uncomfortable with the thought of him returning, being in his space and carving out a bigger piece of real estate in John’s heart. 

And, yes, he _knows_ he’s infatuated. 

A large part of him is holding onto the hope that these feelings won’t fade, that Jordan will help him nourish this into something resembling the love that he’s seen between his parents, between Clutter and Cassie, between Zeeker and Kristy, between so many of his teammates that makes him think, “Yeah, maybe it’s time to see what actually becomes of this for me, too.” 

The response, when his phone buzzes in his hand is enough to make him laugh, quite literally, out loud.

It’s an all-caps, “ _UMMMMMMMMM HOLY SHIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!_ ” with a paragraph’s worth of heart-eyes emojis that make John’s face heat and his stomach flop. Then it buzzes again with a veritable keysmash, and once more with a horribly misspelled, but extremely complimentary statement of his appreciation.

At least that’s what John assumes, because it’s still largely incoherent.

He cycles back through to look at the picture, to see if any of that response is actually warranted and -- nope, there’s nothing even remotely risque about the picture. 

A little confused, John sends back three question marks and waits a good, indulgent ten minutes for a response. Nothing. He gives up, goes to the bathroom, showers, gets dressed and ready for practice.

 

John’s just about ready to hit the ice when Jordan blusters in, pink cheeked and making overtly intense eye contact. He cocks his head, asking a silent, “You okay?” and Jordan shakes his head brusquely before dumping his gear and hastily tossing things on.

They practice --

Or, at least, John practices. Jordan mostly fumbles around like it’s his first time holding a stick, letting passes that should connect bounce right off the boards and tripping over his own skates more often than not. He takes a lot of ribbing from the rookies who, for all they like to poke the bear, still cower away when he growls playfully at them in his chest. It’s all in good fun -- Barzy and Beau hacking away at his shins and ass and calling him ‘Dad’ like usual -- but Jordan’s really out of it. 

And honestly it’s a wonder that Coach doesn’t ask to see Jordan in his office once practice is over. 

Luckily, they’ve got the afternoon free before the game at Barclays tonight, which means John feels no compunctions at all about following Jordan out to his truck once they’ve cooled down, showered, and dressed. 

Jordan doesn’t spare him so much as a glance, just clicks the remote unlock button and helps John toss his bag into the backseat.

“You, uh…” John starts, wondering if he should tease or take the more serious, Captain route. “You wanna tell me what’s going on, bud?”

Eyes wide, Jordan sucks at his teeth and then sighs, hands on the steering wheel. “You really don’t know.”

John shakes his head, futilely, because Jordan still looks like he wants to bury himself into the steering column of his truck.

Jordan sighs again. “It’s like --” he puts the car in reverse and pulls out of the lot before continuing “-- you know those...vids where the omega’s all ‘no one has ever seen my nest before.’” He cuts a look at John, half-rolling his eyes at the blank look John offers him. “You sent me a picture of you in your nest and it just -- I don’t know...it really did it for me.”

John tries not to snort. “Um, J. You’ve been _in_ my nest. With me. More than once.” 

One heat already, a mark on John’s neck that Jordan won’t let fade, _and_ plans for the next heat already in place. There’s nothing innocent about John, especially not anymore. Not when he’s half-expecting a proposal at any given moment or pondering his birth control each morning.

“I _know_ ,” he replies, coaxing his truck into a left turn towards his own house rather than John’s. “Listen, I know it’s dumb -- alpha brain bullshit, and all of that. But it is what it is and that’s...what it was. I had to wait, like...half an hour before my knot went down.”

He pulls into his driveway and kills the engine. 

John huffs a laugh. “That, uh...really got to you, eh?” 

Jordan shoots him a severely unimpressed (and slightly helpless) look. He pops open the door, gathers their gear bags out of the backseat and doesn’t bother waiting for John before making his way inside. 

Laughing quietly to himself, John follows. He’s a little more at ease in Jordan’s house this time around, used to the thick stink of alpha etched into every nook and cranny of each room. It’s a winter forest, snow falling delicately over a crackling fire, an apple pie baking in a distant kitchen. He follows to where the scent’s the thickest, kicking off his shoes at the threshold of Jordan’s bedroom, and then sets about rubbing some of his own scent into the unmade bed.

That’s where Jordan finds him. John doesn’t even notice until Jordan’s clearing a growl out of his throat.

Ever the considerate alpha, Jordan asks, “Need a snack before we nap?”

Flipping over onto his back, propped up on his elbows, John shakes his head. He only realizes his legs are spread when he watches Jordan’s eyes trail up the length of them to the crux of his thighs. 

Teasing, John spreads his thighs just that bit more.

Jordan’s eyes cut to John’s.

John quirks a brow and cocks his head, signaling the okay for Jordan to pounce. 

When he does, John laughs, trying to squirm away when Jordan starts nibbling at his bond bite. His scruff is a welcome sting along with the teeth. John melts a bit, basking in the intermingling of their scents with the simple pleasure of that bite. 

Now it smells perfect.

Jordan’s hands go to John’s hair as he captures his lips in a rough, scraping kiss. He kisses deep, covering John, smothering him with scent and body alike until John’s laughing, pushing him away. Jordan tries again; John bites down hard on his lip. 

“Enough of that,” John warns, still laughing a bit even as Jordan hisses. “Keep your head out of your ass during the game tonight and then we’ll talk.”

“Oh, so it’s like that?” Jordan teases, poking a finger into John’s side.

John swats his hand away and then snatches it back, bringing it to his lips for a kiss. For all that he can feel himself getting wet, he’d still much rather cuddle his way into a decadently long nap than knot up and chance missing the train out to Barclays with the team. Not unless he wants to be made an example of as a bad captain.

“You _know_ it’s like that,” he eventually says, to which Jordan says, “What,” because he’s too busy rutting against John’s thigh and nibbling at his neck again. It’s no hassle at all, not for John, to let Jordan get himself worked up. And honestly...wrestling, pinning Jordan’s arms to the bed, and saying, “ _Sleep_ , alpha,” with what’s probably a pretty goofy grin on his face is the best precursor to a nap he’s had in a while.

Once Jordan’s finally calmed down, John says, “You’re gonna give me a bunch of rowdy kids, aren’t you?”

Jordan’s expression at that is a mixture of glee and chagrin. “I’m not the one who started the wrestling.”

John doesn’t deign to respond. 

Instead, he slides off of Jordan just enough to wrap an arm around his middle, shoves his nose into Jordan’s neck, and lets himself drift off to sleep with the faintest of smiles and the scent of a cozy winter in his nose.

**Author's Note:**

> comments, questions, and kudos are always welcome :)


End file.
